Alex Laybourne's Blog, page 100

Sneak Peak: Tarranau by James Tallett

This week my blog has been home to a writer whose name will soon be synonymous with the Fantasy genre. I was hooked on his novel Tarranau after the first few pages, and so it is with pleasure (and personal privilege) to give you a sneak peak of James Tallett's first novel in the saga known as The Four Part Land.

This excerpt is a battle that spills over Tarranau after he has been involved in suppressing rioting miners, and buried himself in drink to forget.

That next day Tarranau awoke to a noise of rattling and banging in the levels above him, a clattering sound that sounded as if someone had knocked over the pots in kitchen on the topmost floor. "Sawwaed? What are you doing up there? I'm trying to sleep." Certain that it was his room-mate, Tarranau turned over and proceeded to try and sleep, but when he got no response, and the clatters died away into a profound silence, he began to wonder if it was really Sawwaed up there. Had he locked the door the night before? His memory was too hazy, too clouded by drunken fumes, for him to remember. Struggling to a sitting position, Tarranau grasped at his power, only to have it slip through his fingers. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he reached again, this time catching it, but only tenuously. Should something make him lose what little concentration he had, Tarranau knew he would relinquish his grip on water. Letting it trail upwards through the levels to the entrance two stories above him, he felt not one but several concentrations of water that symbolized bodies. So that meant thieves, or people trying to kill him for what he had done

to the miners. His mind clearing, Tarranau rolled out of bed, tightening his will, focusing it as he pulled at his power, letting it suffuse his form, stripping away any taint of alcohol that he could find in himself, much as he would purify a cask of water. Panting slightly as he crouched next to his bed, he looked down at himself with eyes clear for the first time since his slaughter of the riot, and saw a body well on the way towards ruining itself. Growling, he began to stalk up the stairs, pulling water from the air, from the pitchers used to wah the hands and face, from every source that he could find, and collecting it and chilling it about his hands, giving the impression of spheres of ice where his hands once were.

Letting his senses roam ahead of him, Tarranau could feel one of the five slipping down the stairs towards him, his pose suggesting that he was a soldier, and not one of the miners who might be interested in revenge. When Tarranau felt his opponent begin to come down the spiral staircase, he flicked a blast of ice from one finger, watching as it skipped around the corner, then clanged, rather than the sound of it penetrating flesh. Interesting, Tarranau mused, they're wearing full face helmets. Backing up, he watched and waited for

the soldiers to come around the corner. A face of glittering insectoid form began to appear, and Tarranau nodded inwardly. Brawdoliaeth chan Danio. And wearing the heavy armour of their land. A twinkle sparkled in the eyes of the assassin as he stepped free from the stairwell, confident in his defence against the ice for which this target was known.

Musing on what to do next, Tarranau, clasped his hands together, letting the blocks of ice that surrounded each merge and combine, while slowly backing around the furnishings. Those, at least, would provide a strong obstacle, for in a Tri-Hauwcerton house, the furniture was stone, cut and shaped as the house was built and still attached to the ground from which it had been carved. Placing the table and chairs between him and his attackers, for the others had begun to spill into the room, Tarranau wondered how he was to kill all of them before they got him. He had no armour, and figured they had no qualms about killing him.

All five of the assassins had made their way into the room, and it was beginning to feel cramped, for his foes had begun to circle around either side of the table, backing him away and seeking to trap him against the wall. While his attention was focused on the two nearest to him, Tarranau saw a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye and ducked. A glass throwing knife skittered off of the wall behind him, and he saw the thrower readying another. Tarranau released all the energy and the water that he had gathered, blasting it out to fill the room with a dense driving sleet, the damp cold blinding everyone within, and causing the floor to become a slick mess of slippery fragments of ice and other detritus.

Taking advantage of the confusion that it caused, Tarranau gathered some of the moisture in a small, rock hard globe of ice, and sent it skipping through the storm into the face of one of the Brawds. Unaware of the attack, the globe struck him like the ball of a mace, cracking both the helmet and the face beneath it, crushing the bone inwards. As soon as he was sure the foe was down, Tarranau began to scramble in that direction, dodging a blind charge from the other assassin who had been attempting to circle around the table. Flinging the mace's head back the other way, he caught this foe a glancing blow to the neck, stunning him, but doing little else.

A winging sound came through the sleet, and Tarranau felt a shove, as something impacted his left arm. Looking down, he saw the slow spread of crimson about the hilt of a dagger, where it protruded from his shoulder. Staggering, he ducked down behind one of the chairs, and flicked again with the ice mace against his nearest foe. Still stunned and unable to defend himself, this time the mace crashed home, driving him back into the wall and leaving a smear where the back of the helmet had cracked.

Those in the back of the room had pulled shields from their backs, holding them forward as they advanced towards Tarranau. Pushing against the sleet, he sent a blast from the storm towards their faces, hoping to buy himself a few moments in which to think. Grasping upon an idea as it formed, Tarranau pulled back all of the moisture in the room, forming it into scything blades that hid under the table. As the soldiers stepped around towards him, Tarranau rose from behind his chair, clutching his arm to make it seem as if he was in worse shape than he was. Watching their pacing, he waited as they straightened and began to charge. As their first step took place, he sent the blades slicing out from under the table, taking his foes in their ankles, cutting their unarmoured feet from their legs. Both assassins flopped to the floor grotesquely, blood spurting from their severed limbs. Tarranau had the blades climb up and over, their points now towards the torsos of his enemies. With a thought, they drove down. A crack, followed by a wet noise, filled the room, and Tarranau glared across at the last assassin left alive. This was the knife thrower, and presumably the commander of this little expedition. Glaring, Tarranau watched him ready another knife, but he was unable to duck aside, and the blade thudded into his midsection, off on the right-hand side. Grunting as he slammed into the floor, Tarranau sent the two blades flying at his foe, only to see both blocked aside. Letting them fall to the ground, the watermage reached out for the foe himself, pulling at the water within, ripping it from the soldier's body as he had once attempted to dry a hunk of rotten meat. His foe staggered in surprise, and then began to charge, but the furniture and other carcasses slowed him enough that by the time the assassin was near, he was staggering. The soldier then collapsed and fell, his body clattering to the floor near Tarranau, as the watermage continued to yank the moisture from his foe's body, finally relenting only when his enemy was a desiccated husk.

His efforts and wounds overwhelming him, Tarranau sunk down into a grim and shallow sleep, shot through with crimson streaks of pain from the daggers stuck within him. Time passed in fevered dreams, and when the watermage woke, he had no idea of how long he slept, only that he was still alive, and aching greatly. Looking down at his body, he could see where the blood had congealed about the wound, pinning the dagger in place. Groaning, he tried to sit up, and as he did, he could feel the weapon shifting, tearing new flesh with each small movement. Slumping back to the ground, Tarranau carefully edged himself around the furniture to the front of one of the chairs. Grasping the cushion that sat there, he pulled it down where he sat. Even that exertion tired him, and he rested for minutes before moving once more. Pulling the dagger from his shoulder gifted Tarranau blurred vision, pain coursing through his body. The slow drip of blood began again, spilling out onto the floor from the re-opened gash. Using his good arm to slice the pillow's covering into strips, Tarranau bound those about his arm. Each attempt brought renewed pain and bleeding, for to tie the knots, he had to exercise the wounded arm, exacerbating the damage. Finally, it was done, but the cloth wound about his shoulder was stained crimson, although the bindings appeared to staunch the flow. Looking down at the dagger still embedded in his torso, Tarranau wondered what to do about that, for he had not enough cloth here to wrap around his stomach and tie down the wound. Looking about at the carcasses of those whom he had slain, he saw cloth underneath the chitinous armour that they wore, and eased himself towards the nearest form.

The soldier had soiled himself as he died, and the pungent stench infected Tarranau's nostrils and mouth as he approached, but he steeled himself and blocked the loathsome scent from his mind, using the dagger taken from his arm to slice the straps on the breastplate, and then to slice the cloth beneath into long strips. Reaching out, he grasped at his element, feeling the energy slowly pouring into his form, and he pressed down upon his wound, hoping to staunch any blood that might flow as he extracted the dagger. Pulling the weapon from the gash, he shuddered under the arcs of pain that flowed through his body, but managed to retain his senses and his control, and the blood did not spill forth. Growling in agony, he began to wrap the strips about the wound in his gut, pulling each tight, wrapping extra layers over the slash when he could.

Feeling the pain clawing away at the concentration that held his life within, Tarranau staggered to his feet, and began a slow, tottering march towards the stairs. Each small step upwards was a torture, but each he managed, stumbling, leaning against the wall, until finally he saw the kitchen turn into sight. Coated in snow, the door still hung open from when the assassins had pushed their way in. A chill wind blew through the portal, the frozen knives carried on the gusts cutting deeply into Tarranau, his body shuddering with each cruel strike. Wincing, he made his way out, turning to see the great spires of the fortress that dominated Tri-Hauwcerton, then began a slow journey towards that edifice. In addition to being the military heart of the nation, it also contained within it the hospital, stocked by those same medics who would journey with the soldiers when they strode to war, and it was into those capable hands that Tarranau sought to deliver himself. Each step a journey through pain, and Tarranau wondered if this would be the time that he would take the final leap into Hysbryd Byd, that he would become one of the great mass of spirits who floated about in constant hopeless waste, their minds a tattered wreck of what once was. Slumping to his knees in the snow, Tarranau stopped himself from falling completely only by pressing his good hand into the snow, and when he staggered back upright, there was a bloody handprint left to mark his passage. Soon there came cries from around him, as those few who were travelling outside on this miserable day noticed his anguished posture, and came running to help. The first to arrive was a housewife, on her way to buy food for her family, and when she saw Tarranau, she rushed over, took one look

at the ruin and blood that soaked the front of his clothing, and propped herself under his good arm, taking much of the weight from Tarranau and allowing him to journey easier. Soon others came, and one brought an anifail chan beichia, loaded with supplies for the market. Pulling some of those supplies off of the animal, a space was cleared for Tarranau, and he was levered into position. By now, his mind had all but ceased to function, and the only thought that echoed round and round his brain was that he must not let go, must not let his concentration on that single location of his body waver. Beyond that, the kindness of strangers passed almost unremarked, until he realized that he no longer was walking, yet was still moving onwards. Gratitude flooded his body, and then he let himself go, sinking down into a stupor from which he was not soon to rise.

James Tallett is the author of a series of fantasy novels set in The Four Part Land. The first of these,Tarranau, will be published by Deepwood Publishing in Summer 2011.

James is the founder of Deepwood Publishing, a small fantasy and science fiction imprint, focused around anthologies and short stories. Currently he's working on three projects

there with fifteen authors and counting.

He also created the Splintered Lands anthology project, a shared world fantasy anthology. Quickly recruiting five different writers, over the course of several months James guided the birth of the Splintered Lands, a land full of kingdoms born anew, struggling to pull themselves out of a magical and natural apocalypse.

During the days that James isn't working on his writing, he's putting the polishing touches on his MBA (specializing in entrepreneurship). He's hoping to put it to good use in business soon enough (once he gets the ever elusive job of his dreams).

James loves skiing and the outdoors, and if you can't find him on the weekends, it's

because he's skiing. And Fridays. And Mondays. And any other day he can squeeze

it in.

Outside of being addicted to going down snow at highway speeds, James combines his

passion for hiking and travel with his writing by putting places he adores into his novels.

If you're looking to stalk James on the web, you can try Twitter, Facebook, his other Facebook, Goodreads, or email him at jamestallett@thefourpartland.com

Bumba – What Is It About This Clown That Kids Cannot Resist?

Today I want to talk about something that takes up a lot of my spare time. Kids television. In particular I want to talk about one such show. BUMBA. It is a Dutch / Belgian show made by a fantastic company called Studio 100 who make only shows for children, and have numbers bands and musical acts, also aimed solely at children.  I can honestly say that I have never seen another company structured in quite this way aimed at children. There is no patronizing, no talking down to the children, but anyway, that is a topic for another post.

I have three children, aged 4, 2 and 1, all three of them have watched this clown from infancy, and from the word go he has held them all captive. We have numerous DVD's all of which have been worn thin through use, and my 2 year old son goes to bed each night with around 11 (yes I said eleven) different Bumba (and Bumbalou – his red suited friend) toys. Including one Bumba cuddly toy that is about 1 meter long and acts as his pillow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The show itself is simply enough, each episode is but 5 minutes in length and is composed of numerous small sketches. There is no real language spoke, although the 'Narrator'  does teach the off word for certain sketches. Such as Auto (Car) or Wortel (Carrot) etc.

Bright colors abound and with a plethora (from a child's perspective at least) of supporting characters from Monkeys and birds to Boom-Boom the Rhino and Tumbi the Elephant, hilarity is as good as guaranteed.

I can understand the appeal of the show, and think that it is great for kids of any young age, but still find it incredible that children are glued to this show from the very first moment they see it. There is something about it that no other children's program has, or at least not one that I have ever seen.

 

Maybe it's just a Dutch (Belgian) thing, I don't know. But I have added one of the 5 minute episodes below. Show it to your kids and watch as they sit transfixed on the adventures of Bumba and his Friends. Just be careful not to watch it yourself, because you will be whistling the tune day and night before you know it.

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James Tallett: An Inspiration Explanation

With no further ado, I had my blog over to the more than capable hands of Mr James Tallett, creator and guardian of The Four Part Land.

First off, I'd like to thank Alex for giving me this opportunity to guest post on his blog, it's much appreciated. Now, today I'll be delving a little into the background of The Four Part Land, and where it all came from, including the processes I used to build it.

The world of The Four Part Land grew out of a single sheet of paper with names on it that was produced on a shining summer's day, some eight years ago. It was a collaborative effort between myself and my Mum, and we'd made up most of the names by getting out an atlas of Scotland, and then picking and choosing towns and cities that sounded like they fit. We jumbled the names up a little, so they weren't actual places in Scotland, but they're fairly close, and those place names are still the ones dotted around the map today. They've never changed.

A couple generations of the map came and went, and with it was built up a small  encyclopedia of animals, primarily from my hand, but there were contributions from three other family members that have survived to the final stage. In fact, as I'm writing this, I'm sitting less than a foot from the stack of original notepads that contains all of that first summer's notes, and the very first hints of what would become the story Tarranau.

You see, I always knew what name I'd use for the main character. Tarranau was the online username of a friend of mine, and when I first started this novel project so many years ago, I pencilled in the main character as "Tarranau" and never looked back. Even the plot hasn't changed much, although way back then the whole plot I had consists of a little less than the first chapter today.

The name of Tarranau pushed me in another direction as well – I chose to name all of the creatures and secondary characters in Welsh. Tarranau is the Welsh word for "Thunder", and almost all of the other characters in the book have names that can be translated back into English. It even gave rise to the name of the continent the story takes place on. It's Bedwar Barthu Dirio, which is "The Four Part Land", in Welsh, of course. And yes, it means all those godawful tongue-twisters that show up are actual words spoken by living, breathing

humans.

The third story of The Four Part Land, which is the one I'm writing now, goes in another direction – it uses Anglo-Saxon as the primary language and naming convention. It has a different culture, a different people, and a different setting, and I wanted to distinguish it from the primary location of the stories quite distinctively. The fact that Anglo-Saxon uses several letters that aren't found in the standard Latin alphabet helps do that quite well, I think.

You might wonder why I chose to use existing, real world languages rather than making up my own, as so many fantasy authors do. The reasoning behind this had several points – I wanted the language and the names to hold together as a single unified whole, I wanted to tie the work back to Great Britain and places I'm from, and I wanted to give the story slight Celtic overtones.

(Warning, historical diversion). England has no unique culture, as such. The first written story in English is Beowulf, which is a Germanic tale that takes place in lands far distant to where it appeared. Indeed, the Angles and Saxons that named both the country and the culture are Germanic tribes that originated from Scandinavia, and are in fact invaders to the lovely British Isles they now call home.

The earlier inhabitants of Britain, the Celts, the Picts, and those others that we primarily know only through Roman writings and scattered notes, clearly had a strongly developed culture and religion. After all, the tales of the mysterious druids come from the Celts. But all their myths, legends, and most of their religion disappeared under the onslaught of Romans and Germanic tribesmen, and today we have almost none of it, no history that is uniquely English in nature.

That is why I wanted to tie my stories back to place in England, and to the languages that have their home there. So the mountains around Tri-Hauwcerton, where so much of Tarranau and Chloddio take place, are modelled on the Lake District and Snowdonia, while Bohortha Eilan, seen at the beginning of Tarranau, has a distinct resemblance to Cornwall.

The four primary cultures that dot the surface of Bedwar Barthu Dirio also have been assembled from history, although in many cases much more widely. Bhreac Veryan, for instance, is a slightly Arabic desert culture, except that it uses Roman military tactics, and is undergoing a Fascist revolution. Tregonethra is a Dutch/English hybrid, mixing together various times and places in those cultures' history to create the slightly feudal yet very mercantile version that appears in the books.

I don't technically 'research' these aspects of politics and geography that I use in my stories, but that's only because I spent my college years slogging through political science and history, and I still read a great deal of it for pleasure. Indeed, if you are a fantasy writer (or science fiction), I would highly recommend reading through history books. Good ones are a fascinating example of the breadth of human interaction, and they provide a wonderful bounty of ideas for new stories.

Many of the more interesting interactions I've read are inspiration for stories, or aspects of stories, in The Four Part Land. The success of the Greek phalanx plays an important role in the 3rd tale, while the north German forests cover part of the landscape. Yet, despite all that I love drawing from history, there are always areas that just have to be drawn directly from the imagination. After all, fantasy encompasses worlds that cannot be real, as well as taking inspiration from those that are.

Monsters, legends, magic, and myths are all created to populate these stories, and I have had a wonderful time dredging through my imagination to put them down to paper. But in some ways, the most fun of all happens when I, as an author, can hand these stories over to another person, a reader, and see them take as much joy in the reading as I did in the creation.

And with that, I bequeath to you the reader a tantalizing sample of Tarranau, and my hopes that you find a world that delights your imagination.

Author Interview : James Tallett

Today it is my absolute pleasure to introduce you all to a man who has already firmly planted himself on my favorite authors list, and I am only half way through his novel.

James was kind enough to take a few moments and sit down with me and share his thoughts on writing, publishing and the books that have helped make him the writer he is today.

When and why did you begin writing?

I was sitting outside one morning on a beautiful summer's day chatting to my mum

about books, primarily fantasy, and she said something along the lines of "You're a good writer, you've read enough, why don't you give writing a fantasy book a try?" It seemed like such a good idea we sat down and built a map for a continent, and jotted down the names of the major cities. An updated version of that map is here, and the place names are still the same. I've been writing in the setting we created that day for about eight years now, give or take a few months.

Did you know straight away that it was what you wanted to do?

Not really. Writing was a very on and off process for me at first, and it still is to a great extent. I'm well aware it's never going to be my primary career, but I do love to spin a good tale, and I'm trying to average one published novel (and one smaller work) every year.

What inspired you to write your first book?

Being told I should give it a try. The setting arrived over the next couple weeks, and by the end of the first month I more or less had the idea for the story in place, or at least the opening chapter. The beginning of Tarranau has changed very little in plot from when it

was first conceived, although I didn't yet know where the rest of the story was going to end up.

Do you have a specific approach to you writing? (plotting, scheduled writing times etc)

I plot out every story before I write them (well, every story longer than about 5k), and I generally try and write in the mornings before I go to work, but aside from that, there isn't a lot of structure in how I write. Everything is in order though, I always start at page

1, scene 1, and write from there to the end of the story.

How did you come up with the title / name of your main character?

I borrowed the name of Tarranau from an online gaming colleague of mine during the high school days. He was an Englishman who had the username Tarranau, and when I asked him what it meant, he told me it was Welsh for thunder. I liked it so much that years later I remembered the name, and the main character has had it from the first day he hit paper.

 Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

If there is, it's not there intentionally. I don't want to bring conscious moralizing to a story, I want to tell a good story. If there's a message in there, it evolves out from how the tale is

written, and the actions of the characters. And each of them has their own outlook on the world that usually isn't the one that I have. My stories would be pretty boring if all of the characters were carbon copies of me.

What made you choose the independent route for your writing?

Time and royalty rates, mostly. And control. As an indie author, I control the art, the publishing, when it goes on sale, marketing, etc. It's nice to have control over all these aspects of the novels, but it also means a lot more work in some respects. And the money is

more visible in coming out of (and hopefully going back into) my pocket.

If you had to choose, which writer(s) or what book(s) has inspired you the most?

The first true fantasy story I can ever remember reading was Lord of the Rings, in 3rd grade. It's almost certainly the tale that kickstarted my love of reading and writing fantasy. But in terms of time spent reading, it's probably the Wheel of Time. I can still remember the bookstore where I got the very first book in the series when it was published. At the time, there were little free teaser novels they gave away that had the first couple chapters in them. I grabbed one, read it, and went right back for the huge tome that was the first book. I've read every one since, for the last twenty years.

What are you currently reading?

I'm most of the way through Glen Cook's Black Company series. I finished up book

8 (She is the Darkness) last night, and I'll probably start Water Sleeps tonight. It's an interesting series, and its influence on the Malazan Book of the Fallen is very clear.

Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

Well, I could hardly call Glen Cook new, since he's been writing longer than I've been alive, but I had the opportunity to snag the first four anthologies of the Black Company all at once, and I've barely put them down since I've got them.

As for new authors, Chris Evans' Iron Elves series really captured my imagination. I won't spoil much of the story, but there's a scene where an evil object is turned into a nicely carved sideboard with a lace doily cover. I was so creased with laughter I had to stop reading. The story is that good.

You reference three different novels on your website, but with a series called the Four Part Land, can readers expect another novel?

There are six novels and one anthology plotted for The Four Part Land. I know, it doesn't fit in with the whole Four ethos, but it wasn't planned that way. The story is currently unfolding as two different trilogies. Tarranau is book #1 of the Tarranau trilogy, while Chloddio (the next book to appear) will be book #1 in that trilogy. I'll be alternating

the publishing of each series, so overall Tarranau's series will be books #1, #3, and #5, while Chloddio will be books #2, #4, and #6. They run concurrently in the setting's time, and there is a fair amount of overlap. For instance, Tarranau takes Chloddio's job when he gets fired, for various reasons.

Finally, the last book is Unfolding a New Continent, and is the anthology collection of all the short stories and novellas that I've written about The Four Part Land. Longer tales from this will be published individually in ebook formats, as well as the final print collection.

What can your readers expect from you once the Land series of complete?

Well, there's a few things going on and planned, but I already have plots for 4 short novels in the Arhosa setting (a grim fantasy setting), Our Land (a gunpowder fantasy novel), a SF setting as well, and whatever else catches my fancy between now and then. There's a lot

I've got in mind, and it's a matter of which gets written.

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

With Tarranau? I'd tweak some of the opening chapters, add in one or two aspects of the world that are slightly hidden. I've also always had a hard time displaying the religion of Bedwar Barthu Dirio in the books, although it's there. Some of the short stories cover it better, especially A Desert of Fire and Glass.

I am currently approaching the midpoint of Tarranau, how long do your readers have to wait for Chloddio to come out?

My guess would be until the mid-point of next year. I need to rewrite part of the ending section of Chloddio, and I'm also trying to finish up the first draft of Laeccan Waters, which is the 2nd book in the Tarranau series. I should be able to get both of them released next year though.

There's also Breaking an Empire on the way, a novella set in the past that covers much of the history and bloody conflict that lead to this current turmoil within Bedwar Barthu Dirio.

What do you find to be the most challenging aspect of writing?

Staying committed. The words come fairly easily if I take the time to sit down and hammer away at the keys, but keeping myself at the keyboard and writing has always been the hardest part. I either come up with a new idea, or get distracted, or burn out on the current story.

The creation of Deepwood Publishing has done very little to help, but it has slowed down the process of burning out by giving me many more things to work on in small doses.

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their

work?

Currently, I'd probably say Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson, Glen Cook and Steven Erikson. With all of them it's the scope and the layers of mythology and history that exist behind the stories, even in single novels. There's always this sense that a world exists,

and that there's always more of it over the next horizon.

The Tarranau cover is great, who designed it for you?

It was done by Aidana Willowraven, who did both the artwork and the cover design.

Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

That I need to plot more when writing. Or, at least, that I write more skillfully when I plot the story out beforehand. And that if you give me a setting, I will create plots till the cows come home. It's almost more fun than actually doing the writing itself, since each plot is

a story in miniature.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Write every day. It makes the writing smoother, easier, and more connected between

sections. Letting the writing lead where it must is also important. I have never plotted the death of a main character. But sometimes they die, and that is how the story should be.

Also, I try and provide some writing tips on my blog here. They're usually focused around various aspects of creating a fantasy setting, and what I do that might help others.

Do you have anything that you want to say to your readers?

A story isn't a complete story until it's been through the hands of the writer and the reader. I've put a strong framework into place, but until the reader's mind fills in all the little details and scenes and fleshes the world out, it doesn't truly come alive.

That's why readers are so much fun as an author – they bring the world alive again for us

as well. After eight years poking around the inside of The Four Part Land, I can see every mound of terrain and the daily lives of the people so well it's like wandering around my local town – it's all so normal I don't notice the extraordinary. Questions and comments from those who see the world for the first time bring back the magic for me.

Thank you for the support and the kindness you've shown over the years.

James Tallett is the author of a series of fantasy novels set in The Four Part Land. The first of these,Tarranau, will be published by Deepwood Publishing in Summer 2011.

James is the founder of Deepwood Publishing, a small fantasy and science fiction imprint, focused around anthologies and short stories. Currently he's working on three projects

there with fifteen authors and counting.

He also created the Splintered Lands anthology project, a shared world fantasy anthology. Quickly recruiting five different writers, over the course of several months James guided the birth of the Splintered Lands, a land full of kingdoms born anew, struggling to pull themselves out of a magical and natural apocalypse.

During the days that James isn't working on his writing, he's putting the polishing touches on his MBA (specializing in entrepreneurship). He's hoping to put it to good use in business soon enough (once he gets the ever elusive job of his dreams).

James loves skiing and the outdoors, and if you can't find him on the weekends, it's because he's skiing. And Fridays. And Mondays. And any other day he can squeeze it in.

Outside of being addicted to going down snow at highway speeds, James combines his passion for hiking and travel with his writing by putting places he adores into his novels.

If you're looking to stalk James on the web, you can try Twitter, Facebook, his other Facebook, Goodreads, or email him at jamestallett@thefourpartland.com

The Pond: Part 3

When Janelle came too she was tied up and outside. Her mind groggy from whatever Dave had used to knock her out. She tried to move, but was tied down. She was bound by her hands and feet, and had been dumped in the wheelbarrow that they Dave had bought just the week before.

It was still dark out, so she hadn't been unconscious long. The lights still burnt in the house and lit the patio are enough for Janelle to see the black hole that was the pond.

"Dave?" She called her throat hoarse. No answer came, but Janelle could hear him muttering to himself. She knew where he was. "Dave, honey, it's ok. We can get through this. Let's go inside and talk." Janelle tried to keep her voice as calm as she could. The strength returning to it as her mind cleared.

She remembered the computer, the articles about the murders. Always by the pond, the wife murdered, the husband by her side having taken his own life. Janelle struggled to remain calm as she wiggled around in the wheelbarrow. She thought if she could topple it then she could get to her feet and get away. From left to right Janelle wormed her body, but just as the barrow began to tip a cold dead weight fell into her lap. Whatever it was was heavy, and sharp. She felt her flesh rip open as the weight pushed into her thighs.

The scream that escaped her mouth was inevitable. Especially when she looked down and saw the rotting cat that sat in her lap, staring at her with one milk colored eye and a blood encrusted empty socket where the second eye should have been. The cat's claws dug into Janelle's skin and causer her body to seize.

"The time is almost here my love. We shall be together again… Free." Dave's voice spoke from the base of the hole. While Janelle knew it was Dave, the voice was anything but the sweet caring tones she was used to hearing. It was a deep wet voice that resonated and gargled as if it he had a mouthful of water.

"Dave, we are free. Baby, you're scaring me. We need to get away from this place." Janelle begged.

Dave had fallen silent once more, and after a few moments Janelle heard the now familiar sound of shovels of earth being ripped from the group. A dark shadow flew from the dark depths and landed with a wet plop on the algae covered ground.

Janelle could see it working its way up the walls of the house. Something cold wrapped around her legs. She looked down and saw a thick pulsing green tower of slime reaching for her bare feet. She flinched, snatching her feet higher into the air. The cat, caught off guard gave a rotten cry and jumped from her lap, and disappeared into the hole.

Janelle took her chance and, she threw her whole body to the left, and just as the wagon began to tilt she threw herself back to the right. The wheelbarrow toppled with ease, and Janelle spilled onto the floor. The algae, while it cushioned her fall, were on her quickly. It was sticky and tried to hold her down. Janelle felt her wrist jar within the cast and gritted her teeth in agony. Thankfully her hands had been bound before her body and she managed to haul herself to her feet using the steps that led into the garden.

"Janelle, what are you doing baby?" A voice spoke from behind her. Janelle spun around and there stood Dave. His face glistened with sweat while his body was covered with algae. It looked black in the night air.

"Dave… Dave, listen to me. We need to get out of here." She whimpered. Janelle held her nerve and stared Dave in the eyes as she tried to kick off her bonds. Thankfully the knot had been a poor one, the bonds more of a precautionary measure rather than a necessity.

"Oh Janelle," Dave reached out and stroked the side of Janelle's face, tucking her hair behind her ear. He leaned in close and kissed her neck, "it's too late for that. You killed my fucking fish." With that Dave punched his wife hard in the stomach. Janelle doubled over, the wind knocked out of her. "Did you really think I wouldn't know it was you," Dave screamed. He grabbed Janelle by the hair and walked her over to the pond. "Look at what you've done." He cried, the sanity gone from his voice.

"Dave." Janelle coughed, her vision blurred, her stomach burned and she was fighting the urge to vomit.

"Shut up and look." Dave bellowed, ignoring the lights that had begun to flicker in the neighboring homes.

Janelle stood on the edge of the hole and stared into the pit. The walls seemed to emit a green glow and cast a ghoulish light down into the pit highlight the rotting corpse a sickly hue.

"Do you see? I know Ruthie, I know what you did." Dave whispered through a clenched jaw. All the while he was inching Janelle closer to the edge of the hole.

"Dave please, Dave." Janelle pleaded, but Dave didn't listen. With a strong shove he pushed his wife into the pond.

Janelle landed in the deep pool of slimy water and coughed down several mouthfuls before Dave pulled her to her feet. Over his shoulder Janelle saw the skeleton staring at them. The bones were covered in slime, and wet clumps of decaying flesh clung loosely at all the

major joints. Leathered skin had tightened the face into a hideous grin and the head hung lopsided where the neck had been snapped.

Before Janelle had a chance to speak Dave clamped his hands over her throat and began to squeeze. Striking out blindly Janelle raised the cast on her wrist and hit Dave over the head. The grip didn't lessen, and so she struck again, and then a third time. The final blow

drew blood which Janelle felt spatter against her face. Dave cried out and sank to his knees.

Janelle raised her foot, the bonds having come away when Dave had hauled her upright. She stood squarely on her husband's upper back and jumped. Her hands hooked into the soft dirt. Janelle pulled with everything she could muster and clawed her way out of the pond. Lying there in the dirt Janelle tried to catch her breath when she felt Dave's hand reach up and grab her ankle. She kicked out, dragging herself backwards on her elbows.

The ground stopped suddenly, and before Janelle could respond she tumbled from the mud onto the patio below. Dazed, Janelle got to her feet and tried to run. The ground was slippery beneath her feet, her head ached and the pain in her wrist felt as though the limb was on fire.

Once inside, Janelle slammed the door shut and collapsed on the floor in the centre of the kitchen. "Help me," She called out, unable to find anything more suitable.

With her breath caught and the ache in her wrist and head reduced to a dull thud, Janelle rose to her feet. She walked into the living room in search of her keys. Escape was the only thing in her mind.

Until the lights went out,

In the darkness the sound of the shattering glass was amplified. Janelle lost all sense of her surroundings and ran straight into the open arms of her husband."

"Dave, please." She cried weakly, but it was no use. Dave threw his wife over his shoulder and walked back outside.

"I'll teach you. Those fish were my life; they paid for all of this." He roared.

Janelle kicked and thrashed, but Dave's grip was solid. His footing however, was not. As he was stepping from the patio onto the grass he lost his balance and they both tumbled to the ground. Janelle lashed out instantly and crawled away, up onto the grass, away from the house and into the darkness.

"Ruthie" Dave called in a voice that no longer his own. "I hear you Ruthie, you can't run from me." Dave limped forward, his ankle twisted or broken from the fall.

"I'm not Ruthie." Janelle cried as she swung the shovel. The sound of his blade whistled through the darkness. Dave never saw it coming, and could not have dodged the blow under any circumstances. The side of his head split open and he stumbled backwards. Dave hovered on the edge of the pond, arms wheeling, reaching for anything.

"Janelle." He spat through his broken jaw, blood drowning his vocal chords.

"Dave?" Janelle inched closer, the light from the pond highlighting her husbands crippled form.

"Bitch," Dave spat as he grabbed her, pulling her towards him.

In the background Janelle could hear the sound of approaching police sirens, and it was then she saw the lights that had come on in almost every house on the street. It was then that she knew they would be too late.

As their weight shifted, gravity took hold and the pair fell once more into the black. Dave landed first and Janelle on top of him.

"Dave don't… please," Janelle wheezed, "I'm pregnant." She cried; blurting out the news that she had been waiting so patiently to give. Never realizing what the right time

truly meant.

"What…" Dave released his grip, the fight suddenly gone from his body. His face and voice changed almost instantly, as the spirit that had held him released its grip. "Pregnant." He echoed. "Why didn't you tell… wait, where are we?" Dave asked, looking around him for the first time.

Before Janelle could answer, a pair of hands pierced the air, erupting from the ground beneath them. They were old and gnarled the skin rotten and loose on the bone like a glove. Janelle screamed and jumped to her feet, while Dave, his eyes wide with terror was clasped in their vice like grip.

"Janelle, baby, I'm sorry." He called.

"Give me your hand." Janelle bent down and took a hold of her husband, whose body was slowly disappearing into the slime."

Dave pushed her away. "No, get out. Now." He pushed again, freeing Janelle's grip and sending her careening into the walls of the pit. "Go." He mouthed as his head began to

disappear beneath the surface. The thick green water covered his face and ran into his open mouth.

Janelle stood, frozen in horror as the watched her husband disappear, sinking into the mud without a trace. She saw his arms and legs kick out as his took his last breath, yet managed to puller herself away and climb to the surface.

In a sense of déjá vu, Janelle felt a cold hand grip her ankle just as she hauled herself over the edge and back onto the grass, which was suddenly algae free. She rolled over and saw the body peering over the edge of the hole. Its sightless face bored deep into her. The grip

tightened, but with one final kick Janelle pulled herself free and crawled away. Not stopping until she was on the patio, pushed against the corner between the wall and the shed.

It was there that the police found her, covered in dirt and half naked. Her body was so rigid with fright that when the paramedics lifted her onto the gurney she remained curled up even after the first sedative had been given.

Janelle woke to a room filled with light, the sound of happy chatter filled her ears like the sweet song of a choir and when she opened her eyes there was a group of people all gathered around her bed staring at her expectantly.

It was more than a week before Janelle was dishcarged from the hospital. Miraculously her baby was fine. The police took her statement repeatedly, and it never changed. Not in all the years that came after. Janelle never went back to the house, instead she moved in with Amanada and eventually out of the state.

The police excavated the pond, and while they indeed found the skeleton of the old woman, right where Janelle said it had been, the body her husband, the father of her child was not.

Fall From Grace … Chapter One (by Matthew Munson)

Fantasy Author Matthew Munson has been my guest all week, and today it is my pleasure to offer you all a sneak peak inside his soon to be released debut novel (Published through Inspired Quill) Fall From Grace.

                                              The Celestial Observatory

He stood at one of the large, arched windows, his shoulders tense with frustration. His eyes were staring blankly out over the star-flecked darkness of the cosmos and his mind, usually absorbed by the awe-inspiring sight of entire galactic discs, was elsewhere; he was distracted by the almighty row he had just had with his Father.

    The ever-changing view of the galaxies swirling slowly past usually helped calm him after one of their arguments – but it failed today. This row had been more intense, and the bubbling, underlying resentment between them had seemed far closer to the surface. The stars weren't doing anything to disperse the bubbling anger he felt inside. His ire was too great; the argument with his Father was still fresh in his mind, scattering any other thoughts.

    "Brother?"

    He looked round and saw Gabriel walking towards him, a look of concern on his youthful features.

    "Gabriel," he said softly – more softly than he had spoken with his Father. After all, it wasn't Gabriel's fault that his older brother and Father couldn't last more than five minutes without arguing. "You shouldn't be here. Return to the Chamber. They'll think you're allying yourself with me."

    He couldn't keep the cynicism out of his voice, and immediately regretted not trying harder. He'd always suspected that their parents preferred Gabriel over him; he had learnt to accept it a long time ago, but that didn't mean he couldn't occasionally find it irritating.

    Gabriel had always been the peacemaker between his older brother and their Father, trying to stop their arguments before they started – or at least soften the edges when they did, inevitably, erupt. It didn't usually work, but to his credit, he always tried anyway.

    "I don't care if they think that," Gabriel retorted. "You're my brother. Why should I not stand with you? I agree with everything you said."

    His elder brother blinked in surprise at the passion in Gabriel's voice – a passion that he didn't often hear coming from his mild-mannered sibling. Gabriel usually kept his own counsel, because the last thing his family needed was someone else shouting in the Ruling Chamber. He knew, however, that Gabriel was old enough to make his own choices now.

    Wasn't that what my Father and I were just arguing about? he thought. Choice?

    "Just … be careful," he cautioned. "I'm the thorn in our Father's side; there's no reason for you to be tarred with the same brush. You know what Father and I are like. We argue. It will pass, as it always does."

    Gabriel nodded. "I won't disagree with you on the first point," he conceded, and gave a wan smile. "Your arguments seem to be getting more frequent, though. They're always about the same thing, that tiny planet. Is there anything you two can find common ground over?"

    His brother hesitated. It was true, there had always been a lot of heat between him and his Father, and their arguments had been increasing. He knew why, as well; he was no longer afraid to stand up to his Father, as he once had been. In his darker moments, he wondered if this was always a good thing, or whether he was picking a fight simply because he could.

    He also wondered if he cared about the answer; he knew he liked to argue just for the sake of it. Shaking his head, he smiled back at Gabriel.

    "Not much." He sighed. "I … I dislike Father being so obsessive."

    Gabriel interrupted with a nod of his head, and neither needed to say any more on the subject – they understood each other. He nodded back, and sighed again. He'd had the argument; he didn't want to go over it again with his brother. Gabriel was purely here as peacemaker – as he always was.

    "I wish there was something I could do," Gabriel said. "Metatron is fuming, as you can imagine. Michael is taking the brunt of it so you don't have to, I suspect."

    His brother laughed. "Metatron is always fuming. I think the heavens would fold in on themselves if she ever found peace. As for Michael …" He hesitated. "I admire how he stands up to her. I think he's the only one that ever does. I can see why my Father made him commander of his armies; if he's not afraid of Metatron, there's not much he can be afraid of." He raised an eyebrow. "I wonder how much trouble she'd give me if it wasn't for Michael"

    Gabriel laughed in agreement. He and his older brother fell into companionable silence, staring out of the window and watching the heavens float by.

    "I need to fly," he said after a while. "I … I need to centre myself, and I can't do it here."

    Gabriel nodded, and watched his older brother go. Just as he was about to leave, a thought occurred to him and he called out his brother's name.

    "Lucifer!"

    His brother turned.

    "You're my brother, and I love you," Gabriel said. "But sometimes I wonder if you argue with Father because you enjoy it or because you're convinced you're right."

    Lucifer stared at Gabriel for a moment, then turned and silently left the Observatory. He didn't reply because he wasn't sure which statement he agreed with more.

Fall From Grace is scheduled for release this month through Inspired Quill. It is already available on pre-order at both Amazon.com and Play.com so feel free to reserve your copy today.

You can get in touch with Matthew via both Twitter and Facebook, or  through his blog

ROW80: Update – Deletions and Sticking Points

The first half of this week has been eventful to say the least.

Monday: I hit a wall on Monday. It Hurt. I had been on a run of over 1000 words a day and then suddenly, just as I had hit that 1000 word target the 'wall' appeared. It was large, and solid and didn't budge. I spent most of the day trying to either scale or tunnel under the wall, and at the end of the day went to bed with a headache after banging my head against the 'wall' for so long.

Tuesday: Thanks to some very helpful and most appreciated Twitter conversation I decided that I was going to have to go back and make some changes. The scene just wasn't coming together in my head as I wanted it to be. I could see it, but actually tying it all together was not possible. It would have been too wordy, I could have written an entire novel (or two) just based around this one scene, and there were too many flaws with how the characters moved. So I deleted the scene. 10,000 words gone in the push of a button and a click and drag on the mouse.. I do plan on re-using some of the text as there were a couple of interactions and exchanges that I liked so it is not a total loss, but even these will need modification when I get to them. I managed to get 750 words written by the end of the day which I was happy with and I now feel much better about the direct the book has taken. I am back on track

Wednesday (Today): Well today didn't start as I had planned. My daughter was up a lot in the night and so I was knackered when the alarm went off at 5. Coupled with the fact that the kids (2 of the 3) were awake not long after 5:30 I only managed to get a couple of hundred words written this morning. I did however have a great vision – and one that is feasible to write this time – for the layout of the city. Without giving too much away think Jack and the Beanstalk. At the top is the Castle – the ultimate destination of this group and meeting point for all characters and plot lines – and the leaves on the stem are the four levels of the city, sticking with the four horsemen theme for each level. I am happy and feeling good about the way things are going once more. Glad I overcame the hurdle so easily and without too much hair pulling or grumpiness.

Ont he whole I am happy with where I am. The deletion was painful but the only real solution and it has made my writing stronger. I am actually proud of myself that I noticed it and actually made a change, whereas before I would have left it and tried for weeks or months to write the story back into shape. I call it personal growth and a good lesson learnt.

Me, Myself, and My Characters

The incredibly talent Matthew Munson is my guest again today.  Following from his insightful interview yesterday, it is now my pleasure to be able to present you with this post wherein he reflects on just how much of ourselves we put into our characters.

 

It's funny how you can write something and not often realize how much of yourself you're putting into it.

I'll give you an example. In my debut novel Fall From Grace, coming out in the next couple of weeks, there's a character called Joseph Tempur, and it was only after the first draft did I realize how much he was like me. Both of us are atheists, stubborn and love writing.

His reactions to everything that was happening to him and his friends was pretty much how I suspect I would react in a similar situation.

When you're confronted by something that shakes your existing knowledge or belief system, it can shake you to the core, and Joseph was certainly shaken by his experiences – as I would be too, undoubtedly.

As I wrote the second and third drafts of the book, I made more of a conscious decision to

mirror our personalities to a degree; whilst we're not exactly the same (I haven't given him dyspraxia, for example), there are a lot of similarities. I even gave him a piece of my own personal back-story in one version; when I was nine, I write a short story about a cowboy who travelled through space before going back in time and visiting the dinosaurs. Well, as it turns out, so now has Joseph.

At the first draft stage, I did consider rewriting Joseph to make him less personal to me, but I decided against it; I like the character and he fitted into the story well. I'll be very conscious of my next book, though – once is enough.

I wonder, though, how often authors will breathe life into their characters by giving them their own, real-life, personality traits? I suspect it happens quite often!

 

Fall From Grace is scheduled for release this month through Inspired Quill. It is already available on pre-order at both Amazon.com and Play.com so feel free to reserve your copy today.

You can get in touch with Matthew via both Twitter and Facebook, or  via his blog and don't forget to check back on Thursday for a  sneak peek at Fall From Grace.

Interview With Matthew Munson

Today I am once again opening my doors and hosting another guest author. My guest this week is the incredibly talented Matthew Munson.

Matthew's debut novel Fall From Grace – a contemporary Fantasy Novel – is currently being prepared for release through Inspired Quill

When and why did you begin writing?

I've grown up around books and writing; my father was a journalist for nearly 50 years before he retired and both my parents love reading, so I was always surrounded by books and hacks!

As soon as I went to school, I found a love of English class – and loved creative writing lessons! They inspired me to try to write things myself, so all through my teens, I was writing short stories, none of which I did anything with sadly.

Did you know straight away that it was what you wanted to do?

Not at all; in fact, it didn't even occur to me to take it seriously for a long time. I spent a long time wanting to be a journalist, but knew what a stressful business it could often be, so eventually decided against that. In the meantime, I've been a library assistant, buyer, temp, administrator, police caseworker and a public servant.

For a long time, I just thought that being a writer was something that "other people did"; I never imagined that I would have the confidence or talent to give it a go myself.

What inspired you to write your first book?

My first "adult" book was Treachery & Lies, an MI5 thriller that's never been published, but I was about 24 years old and just moved into my first home. I'd wanted a new hobby, something to do in the evenings after I finished work – and Spooks was on BBC1 at the time, so there was definitely a link there!

Do you have a specific approach to your writing? (plotting, scheduled writing times etc)

No! I sometimes wish I did, but I just fall into a natural rhythm. I prefer work in the evenings – I'm a night owl, you see, so my brain doesn't function properly much before 10 o'clock in the morning.

When I get an idea for a story, I'll start fleshing out a few characters and write a chapter or two, just to see how they evolve, and then the story flows from there.

How did you come up with the title?

"Fall From Grace" was incredibly easy! My book is about angels and humans struggling with their places in the cosmos, and one of the most famous stories about angels is about their fall from grace.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

To be open-minded about all things. Joseph is the character I most identify with in my book, and I think his own atheism and reactions to the situations he finds himself in are so close to mine if I were in a similar situation.

If you had to choose, which writer(s) or what book(s) has inspired you the most?

I'm so glad you're giving me the option for more than one! Terry Pratchett, Joe Abercrombie, Neil Gaiman and China Mieville – phenomenal writers, all four of them, and all write in a genre I worship! What book are you reading now?

I've just finished my last "new" fiction book, so have got a non-fiction book on the go right now; I like to read a mix of fiction and non-fiction. I'm currently reading The Political Animal; An Anatomy, by Jeremy Paxman.

Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

Yes, most definitely. R.B. Wood, from Boston, is having his first book published on Halloween 2011 and I was fortunate enough to be a beta reader for it; I loved it, by the way, but still intend to buy my copy as soon as it's out on Amazon!

What are your current projects?

I'm working on a sequel to Fall From Grace – I'm about 30,000 words in on that one. I also blog regularly (http://vikingbay.blogspot.com/) about Deaf awareness and issues about dyspraxia, autism and aspergers' syndrome – as well as anything else that takes my fancy!

I write a monthly column for the Hearing Times newspaper and have just finished a book review for The Horror Zine.

I have a two-year old son who has just been diagnosed (preliminarily) as having Autism, so I will certainly be following your blog, and applaud you for bringing these subjects to our attention.

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

No. I think any author worth his or her salt needs to know when to say; "Enough." I'm incredibly proud of Fall From Grace, and more so know that it was a collaborative effort – my friends Michelle and Kirk taught me about hypnosis, Sara-Jayne (Inspired Quill's publisher-in-chief) gave me a lot of feedback and my editor, Peter Stewart, was awesome. Peter deserves special mention because of his major edit on my book helped it move up a level, and I feel it's a better book because of our collaboration.

That said, any mistakes are mine, and mine alone!

What do you find to be the most challenging aspect of writing?

Being able to let go. Like I said in my previous answer, it's learning when to stop; I could probably be doing a few more tweaks on it now if I particularly wanted to, but would it make the book better? No, I don't think it would – different, yes, but better? That's what I always keep in my mind.

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

If I had to choose one, and one alone, I would have to say Terry Pratchett. I've been a huge fan of his for such a long time; the first book I ever discovered was "Guards Guards", and I've followed him ever since. I love his incisive humour and wit as well as his ability to write deeply philosophical chapters right next to a line which will make you laugh out loud.

I couldn't agree with you more Matthew, Terry is a magician when it comes to weaving a tale. I have not read many of his books, but do remember a Camel that worked everything out using Pythagoras Theorem.

It is a terrible shame that is so ill, and I wish him and his family all of the best. As a writer and a man there is only one thing that terrifies me in life and that is to Alzheimer's.

Who designed the covers?

A very talented woman called Fiona Campbell, part of the Inspired Quill team, and a colleague of hers called Andrea Taylor. Fiona and I have had some really good discussions about the cover, in conjunction with Sara-Jayne (Inspired Quill's boss) and I am incredibly excited about the artwork that's been designed!

Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

I think I've learnt from everything I've written; how to make every word count and, in Fall From Grace especially, how moving away from traditional chapter headings can sometimes work really well. I also learnt a bit about hypnosis!

Do you have any advice for other writers?

If you have the passion for writing, then follow it; don't let anyone convince you it's not worthwhile.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

The fact that I have readers is incredibly excited in itself! Thank you for buying my book; if you liked it, I hope you buy the sequel in the future – and make sure you tell EVERYONE about it. If you didn't like it, can you be bribed at all?

Matthew, thank you very much for taking the time to answer my questions. Best of luck with the release of Fall From Grace, I cannot wait to get a hold of it.

Fall From Grace is scheduled for release this month, and is already available on pre-order at both Amazon.com and Play.com so feel free to reserve your copy today.

You can get in touch with Matthew via both Twitter and Facebook, or  via his blog and don't forget to check back tomorrow (Tuesday) and Thursday for a guest post written by Matthew and sneak peek at Fall From Grace.

ROW80: Updates, Blog Tours and Visitors

Well that time of the week has come around again.

Even I have been blown away by the consistent wordage I have managed this week. With over 1000 words a day being added to my novel, a 2300 word short story (second part) and a few general blog posts.

I did struggle with the 5am wake up this week, but that is in large part down to the fact that my daughter has been little monster this past week with sleeping. Lots of moaning and groaning which at its best saw me rise 3 times in 5 hours and at worst was 7 times in 5 hours.

The other this I have noticed with this interrupted sleep pattern I have is that I no longer dream, and do not feel rested at all in the morning. Ok, it's not strange but it struck me as interesting.

Anyway, back to the writing.

Book Two of the Highway to Hell Trilogy is now (circa) 41,000 words and progressing nicely. I do feel it is going to be a bit longer than Highway To Hell, but that isn't a bad thing. As I have said before, word count doesn't bother me as long as the story remains strong and is complete.

This being said I always write a longer novel for the first draft and cut considerably in the first round of editing. I prefer to have to cut words than to add them. Unless I see something is missing or want to re-write a chapter, but I'm sure you understand what I mean.

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I am planning on running a short and intensive blog tour the week leading up to Halloween. My aim is to hit two blogs a day leading up to a short competition on my blog on the 31st with free copies of my novel and discount vouchers as the prizes. (More concrete details to follow)

The main aim now is getting the hosting blogs agreed upon. The posts themselves are forming in my mind and are going to be quite a mix of Halloween related / themed and more generalized.

Anyway, that's enough from me this update.

Thank you for reading and Happy writing.